Second Chance
by Cadsuane
Summary: Lya Cousland's decisions at the Landsmeet had lasting repercussions for both herself and the man she loves. Can lovers parted by betrayal ever find each other again? Edit: Story has been rewritten and expanded a bit.
1. Chapter 1

This is a story that wrote itself in my head when I was recruiting Loghain into my party. It's the only way I could explain why my HNF took leave of her senses and betrayed Alistair, and it was either get it out by writing it or go mad.

**Edit:** I have rewritten the story, and expanded it a bit. Some of it is relatively unchanged while other sections have been vastly altered. I consider this version much, much more solid. Almost all of the AU has been removed and it now hews far more closely to in-game lore than the original did. The original eight chapters have been replaced and an additional ninth chapter has been added.

If you read the story previously, feel free to give it another going over. As always, please enjoy and any comments are more than welcome!

I would like to thank the following people for taking me to task and making me do it better, for proofreading and helping me work out ideas: Ravenia, Xandurpein and She Who Shall Be Known as Su.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to DAO, DAOA, its characters or storyline.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"You know, you're a surprisingly difficult man to find."

Alistair turned quickly at the sound of the voice coming from behind him, his hand moving to grasp his sword hilt as he searched the darkness for the source of the voice. A shadow detached itself from the doorway of one of the hovels and moved into the street. Though the moon was not quite full, Alistair could plainly see it was a tall man wearing a suit of dark leather armor and wrapped in a black cloak. Two slim swords hung from his hips, but the man's arms were crossed and his stance gave no indication he was preparing for a fight.

The man looked at Alistair, almost bemusedly. The handbreadth of steel Alistair had bared gleamed in the pale light, and he raised his hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. "Easy," he said quietly. "I have no desire to fight you. I just want to talk, though I would prefer someplace more private."

Alistair's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. The angle of the moonlight didn't allow him a good look at the stranger's face, but he was fairly certain he didn't know him. "Do I know you?"

"No."

The silence hung there for a moment before being broken by a harsh laugh from Alistair. "But let me guess, you're going to tell me you know me."

The man regarded him for several long moments, head tilting slightly to the side as he thought and re-crossed his arms. When he spoke, it was slowly, choosing his words with care. "No, I do not know who you _are_. Who you were? Yes. Who you might be? Possibly. Who you are _supposed_ to be? Most definitely. But as to whom you are right now? No, I don't know you."

Alistair jammed his sword back into his scabbard and turned on his heel, intending to continue on his way. "I have no desire to play games with you or anyone." He began to walk away and for a moment thought he was going to be able to.

"I need your help, Alistair. Or rather, a mutual friend needs your help. Whether or not you give that help is up to you, but I would appreciate it if you at least heard me out. Or has the son of Maric become a coward?"

The reference to his father stopped Alistair mid-stride. He thought he was unknown here, that he had finally outrun at least one of the demons that never seemed to stop chasing him. When was the last time he had thought of himself as that? Two years? Three? He couldn't quite remember, so many of his early memories muddled and hazy, if not completely lost. He slowly turned around to face the man again, his right hand wrapping itself around the pommel of his sword once more.

The man stood as he had been, regarding Alistair calmly. "I will repeat myself: I have no desire to fight you. Indeed, I will not fight you for I have no quarrel with you. If you attack me, I will defend myself. But only if you force me to."

"Fine. You want to talk, talk."

The man gestured behind him. "I would ask that you accompany me to where I am staying. While I doubt the back alley streets of Salle have any unwanted ears at two hours past midnight, I am…hesitant to risk it. Please, I ask only that you come with me and listen."

"And I should trust you? I don't know who you are or how you know my name, nor do I care that you've said you won't hurt me. I have no reason to go anywhere with you or listen to a damn thing you have to say."

The man sighed wearily. "If you were listening, I didn't promise not to hurt you. In fact, I fear that is exactly what I'm going to do. But I think we both know the greatest wounds come not from sword and fist, but from words."

Alistair felt the hairs along his arms and neck stand up, and every warrior sense in him screamed at him to get away. An odd fear gripped him and he knew he had to leave before the stranger said anything more. There was something wrong here. He cast his eyes about, seeking a way out of the street. The man continued to look at him, his gaze suddenly very alert. His arms dropped to his sides and he started to walk towards Alistair. Alistair slid back a few steps, but couldn't bring himself to turn and flee.

"You've felt it, haven't you? These last few days…. Oh, it's not darkspawn. That you would know for certain. But something similar. Something that would call to the taint in you in much the same way," he said softly. The man continued walking towards him and Alistair had continued to slide backwards, unwilling to turn his back on the man. "We need to talk, Alistair, and it has to be soon," the man continued. He had closed the distance between the two of them, standing now only about five feet away. "Don't you even want to know who needs your help?"

"No!" Alistair spat the word out, torn between anger that this man could unsettle him so quickly, and the unnamed fear that was settling into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to deny the man's words, to throw them back in his face. But he had felt that odd calling—the call to the poison in his blood that was killing him slowly. No, the man was right, not a darkspawn. But the only other thing that his blood would respond to….

A Grey Warden.

Maker, he had thought himself done. He had sensed Grey Wardens in various cities and towns he had come to since leaving Denerim. He always took care to avoid them, moving on himself if they did not do so after a few days. Alistair never knew if it was coincidence or if they were looking for him. Since he never sensed any pursuit, he had put it down as random chance. There were far more Wardens outside of Ferelden after all, and who would come looking for one who had quit and left the Order when he was needed most?

_Once a Grey Warden, always a Grey Warden._

He shook his head dumbly, the events of that fateful Landsmeet suddenly vivid in his mind. He glared at the man standing before him. "Leave me alone. I have nothing you want. Just…leave me be." He turned away. He was suddenly too tired, too worn out to care if the man did slip a blade into his back.

"She's dying, Alistair."

Alistair froze, his heart seeming to stop inside his chest. He turned back slowly to face the man once more.

"Lya is dying."

* * *

Alistair wondered what cruel sense of the humor the Maker had that caused him to be sitting here now. He looked at the man, who had introduced himself as Kaden, sitting across the table from him and struggled to find the words to voice his feelings. "You get me here by telling me that…_she_…is dying, only to tell me that you lied and she's really not?" The cold fury in his voice was unmistakable. Those memories were buried, had been buried. There was no reason to disturb them, to dredge them out of the dark past. Yet Kaden had, and Alistair found that those memories were not buried nearly as deeply as he had thought.

Kaden nodded, accepting the anger. "I phrased it badly," he admitted. "But my words were true nonetheless. She _is_ dying, Alistair, though it is a thing more of spirit than of flesh. But given enough time, a thing such as this will kill a person as surely as a sword through the heart will." He looked somberly across the table at Alistair. "She's suffering Alistair and it needs to end."

Alistair laughed harshly at that. "She deserves it," he said savagely. "She made her choice and now she has to live with it. She's suffering? Good."

Kaden shook his head, his blue eyes dark. Alistair heard him mutter "…two sides of the same coin." Alistair stared at the man stonily, waiting for more of an explanation.

Running a frustrated hand through his brown hair, Kaden said, "It's a saying I've picked up in my travels. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and you cannot truly hate someone until you have truly loved them. I know you loved her, and I believe that some part of you still does. But for all the anger you bear her, I cannot bring myself to believe that you truly hate her that much."

Angrily opening his mouth to declare that, yes, he really could hate her that much, Kaden forestalled him by raising a hand. "I know I only asked you to talk, but now I don't think all the words in the world will do much good. So instead I'll ask for something different. I want you to see her."

"You want me to see her?" he asked incredulously. "To do what? Walk up and say, 'Why, hello, Lya! How's life been treating you since you stabbed me in the back?' Yes, I'm sure that will do everyone a whole lot of good. No, I think I'll pass."

He slid his chair away from the table, and stalked towards the door. A hand on his shoulder spun him around and slammed him against the wall. Maker's breath, but the man was fast. Alistair hadn't even heard him get up or move towards him. Right now, Alistair was seeing anger on Kaden's face—anger and desperation.

"Of all the things she's said about you, she never once mentioned that you were a damned fool! Though given what you did in Denerim it should be obvious. You should know damn well that's not what I expect you to do. All I want you to do is to _look_ at her. Take ten minutes out of what has become of your miserable, pathetic life and look at her! If you can do that, and _then_ look me in the eyes and tell me you cannot—will not—help her, then so be it. I will accept that and you will never hear or see from me—or her—again. I will ensure that, and you can go about doing whatever it is you do now."

And then the anger was gone. Kaden's hand fell away from his shoulder and he backed away from Alistair. He looked old and tired and defeated. He rubbed a weary hand across his face and looked at Alistair gravely. "Think about it. That's all I ask. I'll come back tomorrow night. If you're gone…then you are gone and I will have my answer. But, please, truly think about it. I have no right to ask this of you, I know that." Kaden's eyes bored into him, somehow damning in their directness. "I only ask this, Alistair, because I believe you're the only one who can reach her now. She needs help. She needs to be saved. And don't you think, that maybe after everyone else she saved, someone should try to return the favor?"

Kaden gestured to the inn room they occupied. "This is paid up for two more days. I'm not getting any sleep tonight, so you might as well use it." With that, he gathered up his cloak and left. Alistair leaned against the wall for several long minutes, trying to absorb the bizarre direction his night had suddenly taken.

He had spent the last two years trying to rebuild his shattered life, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in a world that had seemed to have gone insane. And in less than an hour, a stranger destroyed even that small comfort. He stumbled over to the bed and sank down onto it, memories coming back to him against his will.


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter Two

He watched Lya fight Loghain, knowing she was going to win. He'd fought at her side for the last year, hadn't he? Loghain was a skilled warrior, but he was no match for her. It was obvious to everyone in the Landsmeet who was going to win. And then, almost as soon as it had begun, Loghain was on his knees, surrendering. Lya raised her blade and…hesitated. She raised it again a bit higher and hesitated yet again.

That's when Alistair knew something was wrong. She was so sure of herself most of the time. He'd seen her be indecisive before, but that was usually due to not knowing enough about someone or something. This was different. She was nervous, faltering when she could see the path she was supposed to take, but for some reason not taking it. And then her sword tip lowered.

"I accept your surrender." The words were low, but clear. Alistair stared at her in shock.

"I didn't just hear you say that! You're going to let him live? After everything he's done? Kill him already!" He couldn't believe this was happening. They had discussed what was going to happen at the Landsmeet, how they intended to see justice meted out and then put him on the throne.

At one time, he would have done anything to get out of being king, of being in a position where one wrong decision could mean suffering for thousands. But she had changed that. She had convinced him that he was more than capable of it. That he, not Anora, was the one who truly cared for Ferelden. That he, Alistair, would-be templar, junior Grey Warden, her best friend and love of her heart, could not only be a king, he could be a _good king_.

And that no matter what happened, she would always be right by his side—to help make the hard decisions and to comfort him when something went wrong. And he had believed her.

He watched emotions play across her face, not truly believing what he was seeing until she dropped her gaze from his, unable to look in his eyes any longer. And then Riordan was there, saying something about making Loghain a Grey Warden. Alistair exploded in rage. He demanded she name him king, and she had just shaken her head, looking sick.

"Here's my decision, then: I'm no longer a Grey Warden. I'm leaving."

Anora called for his execution and he saw the true look of horror that had passed over Lya's face. He actually preferred death at that moment. He would have preferred anything to the pain that seared through his chest. But no, it seemed Lya wouldn't grant him that either. So instead he lashed out the only way he had left.

Lya had looked him in the face again, and he steeled what was left of his heart against the anguish there. Her eyes, those big green eyes, begged him for understanding. "Don't go," she whispered. And he denied her as she denied him.

"I have no place here any longer. Not in Ferelden. Not in the Grey Wardens. Not by you."He left the Landsmeet then, never turning back. If she wanted to stick a knife in his back so badly, then let it be the last part of him that she ever saw.

* * *

The Rivaini ship he had taken deposited him in Starkhaven, and he began drinking himself into oblivion. When he heard what had happened in Denerim, that Loghain gave his life to save his beloved Ferelden, he drank until he was beyond memory and caring. His first memories after that were of a few weeks later. The barkeep at the dive he was staying at wasn't a complete bastard and helped fill holes in his memory. Apparently, he had spent his days drinking and telling anyone who would listen that he was a prince and a Grey Warden—that he should have been the true king of Ferelden—and trying to fight anyone who laughed in his face, which was just about everyone.

The year that followed was only slightly better. He wasn't so drunk that he had no memory, but he was pretty bad. The barkeep eventually got tired of him and threw him out. Alistair worked whatever menial job he could to earn just enough money to keep from starving and, more importantly, to keep from being sober. One night he caused too much trouble while drunk and got himself beaten half to death. He woke up in an alley two days later, filthy, wounded and robbed—suffering what was possibly the worst hangover in the history of mankind, and stone cold sober.

Catching a glimpse of himself in a window as he stumbled out of the alley, he was horrified by what he saw. People on the street moved away from him. Children threw stones and laughed. He stood there for a long time, looking at what stared back at him from that dirty, warped window. Then he went down to the harbor and threw himself in. The cold water was a much needed shock. And when he finally dragged himself back to shore, he sat on a seawall until night fell.

And then he wept. He cried for what he had lost, what he could have had, and what he had become. He cried out all of his pain until there was nothing left in him to get rid of. He wondered if all those who were betrayed felt the same way, or if it were just the special province of those were betrayed by the one person they truly trusted and loved. He sat on that wall the entire night, shivering as his clothes slowly dried and his mind stumbled to find a way out of what his life had become. As dawn came, so did clarity. He couldn't live like this anymore. He might not be a king, he might no longer be a Grey Warden, but he could still be _something_.

Little by little he pulled himself out of the drunken gutter he had been living in after leaving Denerim. He took to the road again, living as a vagabond, but at least he was a sober vagabond. A few months were spent doing whatever work he could find, saving his coins. He then made a secret trip back to Ferelden and Soldier's Peak.

That had almost broken him again.

* * *

After the Landsmeet, he had left all of his armor and weapons, all the things that _she_ had given him, at Arl Eamon's estate. He took a basic set of mail, and a serviceable sword and shield. He had lost those somewhere in Starkhaven and he didn't have the coin to buy new ones. Not quality ones, at any rate. But Soldier's Peak had been full of things they hadn't needed in that desperate year on the road trying to save Ferelden. Surely he was entitled to a few things.

He had been careful to not draw any attention, waiting until the Drydens had settled for the night before sneaking in. He made his way carefully to the kitchen first to restock his meager supplies. When he had more than enough to see him through a trip anywhere he chose, he made his way to the armory.

It wasn't locked. He had been slightly surprised at that, but then again, who in their right mind would try to steal from a haunted Grey Warden keep? He eased the door open, his lantern illuminating the room. The light fell on and reflected off of armor sets, weapons and shields that filled the room. There was an amazing amount of stuff here, but that wasn't what made him stop and gasp in shock as the lamplight glinted off of something golden.

Cailan's armor.

It stood on a stand against the back wall by itself, gleaming in the torchlight. Everything in the armory was well cared for, but this…. It glowed in the flickering light, its burnished edges and plates well oiled, almost defying dust to settle on it and mar its radiant surface. On each side of the armor was a weapon rack. One held Duncan's sword, dagger and shield, the other Maric's blade and Cailan's shield. He stood looking at the armor for a long time, remembering that hideous trip back to Ostagar—remembering finding Cailan's body and sending it to the Maker. Of that desperate night back at camp with Lya, both of them needing to feel alive and that they weren't alone.

He closed his eyes and forced the memory away. That was done, over with. Recalling those memories could only do harm and so he banished them—locked them in some corner of his mind where they wouldn't be free to tear him apart.

Seeing Duncan's weapons brought a flood of shame to Alistair. He supposed he had betrayed everything Duncan saw in him during the last year and half. Well, no more. He moved around the armory until he found what he was looking for. The dragonbone plate set they had crafted after they killed the high dragon. In a storage chest he found the appropriate garments and padding to go under it and began dressing. As he donned the armor, he couldn't help but think of that stupid, insane fight.

* * *

The fact that they survived had seemed to shock them all and fill them with a wild delight. He had jumped on the dragon's neck in a final effort to bring it down, and the damn thing had nearly done him in. After he dealt the last blow and thrown himself clear of the collapsing body, he turned to find a laughing Lya hurling herself into his arms. They were both injured and in need of healing, but neither cared.

"You were magnificent!" she cried and kissed him. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, breaking apart only long enough to grin down at her.

"Well, you know us princes. We have a reputation to uphold. Slaying fire breathing dragons is required of us."

"Oh, it is now?" she breathed against his lips.

"Oh, yes, and before breakfast, too! It helps us work up a healthy appetite so we can grow up big and strong."

She grinned up at him, head tilting to the side and eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when she was really happy. "But what happens when the prince is already big and strong? Does he have to keep slaying dragons?"

"Hmm, good point. No, I don't think he does. Once he's all grown up, he can stop slaying dragons and take on far more dangerous prey."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like beautiful women who don't like waking up early. Think you might know where I can find one of those?"

She laughed out loud then and he had realized how much he loved that sound. Almost as much as he loved the sound of his name coming from her lips in the dark watches of the night.

"I think I might know where such a prince might find _one_ such woman, providing that he promises to make waking up more enjoyable in the future." She blushed as she said it, the way she always did when she flirted with him. He wondered if she always would and hoped so.

"Well then, I'll have to do my best. Because, Lya, my love, I _really_ don't want to have to fight any more dragons. I'd make a terrible Nevarran."

* * *

The agony of the memory almost doubled him over. By holy Andraste, would it ever stop hurting? Some part of his mind told him no, this would never stop hurting, not until the day he died and maybe not even then. If you took your memories to the Fade when you died, he would take this pain, too. It was a part of him now and he had to learn to live with it.

He finished dressing himself carefully—making sure all the buckles and padding were done correctly and in the right places. He stood looking at the weapons, trying to decide what to take. Many were magical, runes glowing with their own faint power in the dim light. Alistair looked back towards the weapon racks besides Cailan's armor.

Carefully, almost reverently, he removed Duncan's weapons and shield. He paused at the shield. Lya had given it to him and he was afraid taking it would cause those memories to surface, too. But no, he could choose to think of it as Duncan's shield first—that it was ultimately from Duncan and only came through her by chance. Yes, that was better. The same held true for the armor. He had landed the killing blow on the dragon. The armor was his. That she had been there was something he didn't have to consider.

He left Ferelden again, heading towards Antiva this time. He had no desire to go to Orlais, and the Free Marches were filled with too many recent memories. So the closest stop was Antiva. After that, who knew? Only time would tell.

And so he had settled into a pattern. He would go from town to town, city to city, looking for work. He usually used Chanter's Boards. Most of the tasks there suited him and he was good at them. Occasionally he would help out where he could in smaller villages and hamlets, taking shelter or food as payment, knowing those poor people could ill afford to give him coin.

He never stayed one place too long, and he never used any name other than Alistair. He supposed he could have come up with an alias, but he was never that good at lying. Simply omitting a last name or making one up on the rare occasion it was called for? Yes. Responding to something other than the only name he had known for the last twenty-three years? No.

He allowed who he had been to fade away—burying his past like he buried his memories. He thought he had done a good job, too. Until tonight. Until a stranger on some dark street brought everything back.

Brought _her_ back.

Sitting on the bed, sifting through all those memories and emotions, Alistair reached a decision. He would do as this Kaden asked. His memories were not buried nearly as well as he had thought, but maybe this would be a chance to fix that. He had survived the pain before, he could survive it again if need be. And if the pain was less when he saw her—or if it didn't exist at all—so much the better. If he could excise her from his mind and his heart completely, then maybe he could get more from his life than a wanderer's existence. He wouldn't do this for her—he would do this for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Kaden stood beneath the window of the room he had just left and leaned against the outer wall of the inn. Finding Alistair had been a stroke of luck, as was the man's willingness to at least sit and listen, however stubborn he had been about it. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. That meeting had gone better than he had anticipated.

He moved away from the wall and made his way back to the inn he was staying at several blocks away. He went inside quietly, looking around the common room as he did so. It was empty except for the red-headed figure he was looking for. He joined her at the table before the fire. She was dressed in her mage robes, refusing to eschew the power they gave her for more practical wear that would have disguised her better.

She looked up as he took a seat in the chair across from her. "Did you find him?" Shayelyn asked. "Yes, of course you must have, else you'd not be back or look so grim. Did he agree? Will he help?"

Frowning thoughtfully into the fire, he said, "I _think_ he will help, yes. But I cannot be sure. I pushed as hard as I could, but too much and it'll have the opposite effect." He sighed heavily. "There's a lot of pain there, Shaye. It hasn't broken him like it has Lya, but it has the potential to. If we're wrong about them, this will go very, very poorly. We're trying to help her, well, I guess it's them now, and we don't need them trying to kill each other."

Shayelyn nodded. "Wrong or not, we need to do this. I can't watch her anymore. It's too hard to see what's in her eyes…." Her voice trailed off. "Did you find out any more from meeting him?"

"Somewhat. He's not as bad as she is, but he's far from fine. He feels betrayed, and I can't blame him. There is anger and hate and, most of all, pain. And as badly as I feel for Lya, Alistair doesn't deserve this either. Even if it only helps one of them, it's better than nothing. He's probably going to lash out at her. I just hope…."

He looked up towards the ceiling, gazing as if some part of him could see through the heavy beams. He grimaced. "If this doesn't work, I'm going to kill her." Shayelyn's jaw dropped in shock, and Kaden just looked at her calmly. "She'll be dead inside of two years if nothing changes. Why put her through a slow death like that? There's no point. We both know that at this point she'd welcome it. She probably wouldn't even fight me."

"But won't that upset-?"

An upraised hand cut her off. "Yes, probably, but a quick, clean end would be better. He doesn't want her suffering. She's getting worse and since she refuses to go back…." He shrugged.

Shayelyn nodded slowly as he spoke. He could tell she didn't like it, but she couldn't fault his reasoning. With a small sigh, she stood up and began to make her way upstairs. One of them always stayed awake at night now, given how troubled Lya's sleep had grown. With any luck, she might sleep through tonight. It would make tomorrow easier on her.

* * *

As he approached the inn after sunset, Kaden pondered asking the innkeeper if Alistair was still there. If Alistair were already gone, he wouldn't even have to go upstairs, and his decision would be made. He debated for a moment and decided against it. He wanted to hold onto hope for a little longer.

Kaden climbed the stairs softly and knocked on the door. Several long moments passed and he was about to enter the room anyway, certain it would be empty, when a quiet "Come in." came through the closed door. He wasted no time, entering and closing the door quickly behind him.

Alistair sat in a chair watching the flame flicker in the lamp on the table. He looked up impassively at Kaden as he shut the door. Kaden nodded at him and said, "Thank you." Alistair grunted noncommittally and stood up. He squared his shoulders as if for an unpleasant duty and moved towards Kaden.

"Let's get this over with."

Nodding, Kaden extended the dark cloak draped over his arm to Alistair. It matched the one he was wearing and Alistair looked at him questioningly before finally taking it. "I want you to see her, not she to see you. At least not yet. Remember, you still have the chance to walk away without doing anything. No need to take unnecessary risks." He didn't think Alistair would be able to walk away, but he didn't need to know that, not yet. Hopefully, it would be a moot point in a few hours.

* * *

Alistair sighed and took the cloak, draping it about his himself to cover his clothes. He would have preferred his armor, but he sensed his plate mail would be a bit too conspicuous for this. For a man who initially said he only wanted to talk, this Kaden had asked for a lot of things. Pulling his hood up to hide his face in shadows like Kaden was doing, he moved towards the door. Maybe he could be done with this and be on his way out of Salle in less than half an hour. He hoped so.

Kaden opened the door and led him downstairs and outside. They made their way down several streets before they entered another inn. The common room was moderately busy, dock workers and laborers enjoying the end of their day with some ale and comely wenches. Kaden led them over to a darker corner of the room. They sat with their backs against the wall, positioned so that they had a good view of the whole room, but so they themselves were hidden by the shadows.

A serving girl came over. "And what can I get you two sers tonight?" Kaden frowned at Alistair for a moment before asking for two ales. The girl brought them over quickly and Kaden slipped her a few coins. Her eyes widened as she saw the glitter of gold instead of the copper she was expecting.

"What my friend and I would like now is to be left alone."

"Oh, yes! Of course, ser!" She made a hasty bow and moved away quickly, not even looking in their direction, the coins disappearing into a fold in her skirt.

"Don't drink too much. It's for appearances. I don't want you drunk, not for this," Kaden warned him. Alistair was about to protest. What did the man think he was going to do? But then he saw Kaden's expression, even cloaked in shadows as it was. His face was grim, deep frown lines etched across his forehead and by the sides of his mouth. His hands gripped the mug of ale so hard that the knuckles were turning white.

That sick feeling he had last night returned to the pit of his stomach. The man looked like he was going to his death. How bad could this be? Maker, how bad could it possibly be? And when Kaden touched his arm about ten minutes later and gestured towards two people entering the inn, Alistair knew exactly how bad it could be.

Had Kaden not pointed her out, Alistair wasn't sure he would have recognized her. Oh, her features were the same—the same dark hair cut short along her jaw, the single braid hanging by her left ear, the large, deep green eyes, high cheekbones, slim straight nose and stubborn jaw were all just as he remembered. Yet the woman he saw before him now looked nothing like the woman he had loved.

The Lya he had known had been full of life. Even when things were at their worst, when all seemed hopeless, there had been a fire in her. There had always been a sharp directness to her gaze that could cut you to the quick when she was angry or seem to stare into your soul when she was listening intently. That fire, that vitality, had made her seem more animated, more real than those around her, even when she was sleeping.

The woman walking to a table across from them had none of that.

She had lost weight, he noticed immediately. Not a lot, not enough to make her look gaunt, but enough to make her look frail. It sharpened her cheekbones and chin, and hollowed her cheeks to give her a drawn look. There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she weren't getting nearly enough sleep. And the shadows in her eyes were darker than the circles under them.

She still moved with the grace of the warrior she was, but there was heaviness to her steps. He didn't think it would have been noticeable to anyone who didn't know her, but he noticed. There was also sadness about her, a sense of deep grief and loss. He squashed the flare of pity it evoked in him. She didn't deserve it.

He watched as she sat at the table, sitting so that she was facing him. He was sure she would notice him. At this distance, he could feel the taint in her blood. Surely she would notice it in his, too. She would look around, find the source of it and come over. He wasn't sure what he would do then, but he tensed, ready for a confrontation.

But she didn't. She just sat, staring off into nothing, not seeming to notice anyone around her. Another serving girl went over and the red-headed mage with Lya murmured something. The girl headed off, returning in a few minutes with stew and bread. The mage began to eat, but stopped a moment later. She reached across the table, gently touching Lya's hand to call her attention. Lya flinched slightly as if startled, and then seemed to notice the food in front of her. She picked up her spoon and ate slowly. Eventually she pushed the bowl away from her, having only eaten about half and sat back, staring into the fire.

The mage finished her food and the serving girl came by to collect the bowls. The mage waved her assent for the girl to take everything away and assumed a position similar to Lya's, but watching Lya instead of the fire.

How long Alistair sat there looking at Lya, he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't stop staring in fascinated horror. If someone had told him that she would be like this someday, he would have laughed. There was no way, he would have told them, that a woman like Lya could ever end up like this.

"_She's dying, Alistair. Lya is dying."_

When Kaden had said that, he hadn't believed him, not really. He simply couldn't picture it in his mind. Now he didn't have to. He had expected to feel hate and rage when he saw her. He had expected those feelings of betrayal that he had carried with him for three years to flare up at the very sight of her. They were there, if not as strongly as he thought they would be. But there was something else, too. He wasn't sure what it was exactly. His chest felt tight, as if some invisible band were constricting around it. The sick feeling in his stomach had only intensified until he felt like he wanted to retch.

For some reason, he remembered the undead they had fought during their travels. Dead bodies reanimated by demons—corpses granted some mockery of a soul so they could destroy everything around them. Looking at Lya now he knew what the opposite was. He was looking at someone whose soul was already dead and was just waiting for their body to catch up.

Eventually the mage with Lya stood up and touched her gently on the shoulder. Again that slight flinch as she came back into awareness. Lya stood wearily and followed the mage upstairs. Alistair turned towards Kaden, a horrified expression on his face. As he did so, he realized the common room was nearly empty. How long had they sat there? It must have been at least two hours and it had felt like two minutes.

He stared at Kaden, unable to coherently form all the questions that were screaming in his brain. Kaden just looked at him, his expression sorrowful. "Now you've seen her and I'll ask one last time: Will you help her?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Kaden watched him—waiting for a response Alistair could not give, and then nodded. "I suppose it's a little much to take in. Before you make a decision, I want to explain to you what I know. It may help you make up your mind.

"I've been traveling with her for the past year. And between what I've learned from her and others, I've managed to piece together most of what happened. I need to tell you what I can about what she's like now. I don't know if it'll help, but I think you deserve to know."

The story took surprisingly little time to tell. "I was traveling through Orlais when I came across a lone warrior fighting a band of darkspawn. The band was mostly dead, but the fighter had been injured. I helped dispatch the last of them and went to help the man." He laughed ruefully. "That's when I realized the warrior wasn't a man at all. Anyway, the woman thanked me and said that I was probably safer if I just continued on my way. I disagreed with that statement and said that even if I was, she wouldn't be. I offered her the shelter of my camp for night and said if she truly wished it, I would move on in the morning. For a moment, I thought she would refuse, but she didn't. I helped bandage her wounds, got some food into her and set up camp. When morn—"

"Wait a minute," Alistair interrupted. "You said she was alone? Completely alone?" Kaden nodded. "Where was Golanth? He should have been with her."

"Ah, her mabari. I didn't get that story until much later, but Golanth wasn't with her because he was dead." Alistair stared at him in shock.

Kaden nodded. "Like I said, I didn't get the story until much later. And the night I got it wasn't very pleasant for any of us." He carefully gauged Alistair's state. "I'll try to make this as quick as I can since I don't think you're in the mood for a long tale. The next morning she said she would be going on alone and left. I waited until she was a few hundred paces ahead and followed her. It irritated her, but what could she do? I continued following her until she finally gave up and said I might as well walk with her.

"I didn't know who she was at the time. I just knew I was looking at someone who was hopelessly lost. Shayelyn, the mage you saw, says I have a habit of picking up people in need. I guess Lya was just one more I can add to that list. Imagine my shock when I realized my traveling companion was the Hero of Ferelden." Kaden ignored the twisting of Alistair's lips and continued. "She wasn't at all what I would have expected, and it made me very curious. But I was patient. I offered her a listening ear and in time she told me about herself. She was surprisingly forthcoming about the year she spent trying to save Ferelden from the Blight. She was willing to talk about almost everything. Everything, that is, except you and what happened at and after the Landsmeet.

"She would occasionally talk about you. But it was always very reluctantly and always required a certain amount of…prodding. And she never would talk about what happened at the Landsmeet." Kaden looked at Alistair, his expression thoughtful. "The other thing I learned was how she managed to collect such a devoted group of friends. There's something about her that draws you in—that makes you care for her. Even the way she is now, she can still do it. I found that I couldn't just abandon her to her misery. I wanted to help her. I would've loved to have known her before she changed. She must have been magnificent.

"And that's what I've done for the last year. I left at times to seek out others, your former companions actually, to see what they could tell me." He looked directly at Alistair. "I've learned a lot. I learned what happened between the two of you while you were traveling and what happened at the Landsmeet. I learned what happened after the Landsmeet. But what I never learned, what I don't think anyone has ever learned, is _why_.

Kaden stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I have never seen anyone so consumed with guilt and remorse as she is, Alistair, and believe me when I say I have seen a lot of people. Do you know that in the entire year I have known her, I have never heard her laugh? I have never seen a smile not tinged with bitterness." He shook his head sadly. "And it's gotten far worse in the time that I've known her. It's like she's given up.

"She's wracked with guilt and she will carry this guilt around with her until she dies, and I don't think anything can change that. But I think if she can explain to you why she did what she did, it might lessen the guilt. It might lessen it enough that she can sleep more than two hours at a time. It might lessen it enough that she can choose to stop torturing herself with it. And even if it lessens it just enough that she finally feels like she deserves to die, that in itself will be a mercy."

Alistair looked at Kaden dumbfounded and he just shook his head again. "She doesn't even feel like she deserves to die. She thinks she's earned this punishment and nothing anyone can say can change her mind about that. I don't know how much you know about guilt, Alistair, but when a person feels like that, that's about as bad as it gets." He paused again to figure out what to say next.

"Do you realize that she didn't notice you even though you are both Grey Wardens?"

"Yes, I did actually," Alistair responded slowly. "I thought for sure she would sense the taint in my blood, but…."

"And do you have nightmares? The kind of nightmares only Grey Wardens have?"

"No," Alistair answered. "None since the archdemon…was slain."

Kaden nodded. "I thought as much. She does have nightmares, Alistair. Just about every night. And she has trouble sensing the darkspawn. Both have gotten worse in just the year I have known her. From what I know of Grey Wardens, there's no reason for that. She told me that during most of your travels she didn't have the nightmares." Kaden looked at him questioningly and Alistair nodded in confirmation. "The mental toll everything is taking on her is staggering.

"Whatever it is she's carrying around inside of her, she needs to tell you and it needs to be soon. I don't know if she'll even tell you, but I think the attempt has to be made. Will you go upstairs and talk to her?"

* * *

Alistair leaned forward, resting his head in his hands and thought. He could leave now. He knew from seeing her tonight that he could rebury the hate and anger. It might be difficult, but not as difficult as it was the first time. And so he could leave. He could move on with his life knowing the past didn't have to hold him anymore.

Her eyes.

Her eyes had been the most difficult part of his memories to put away. The way they looked when she smiled and laughed, and narrowed as she prepared to face an enemy. How they would widen with concern when one of them was hurt, and how they would soften when he held her. He remembered her eyes filled with love and passion and how they could sparkle with mischief. They were so green and could express so much.

And now he could add another set of eyes to those memories. Dead eyes. Eyes consumed with horror and pain. If he left now, those eyes would haunt him.

And, he admitted to himself, he wanted to know why. He had never understood why she did what she had, and maybe he never would. But this might be his only chance for an explanation. He wasn't sure he would be able to accept the answer, but if this was his only chance for one, should he really waste it? Didn't he deserve to know why she had betrayed him?

He stood suddenly. "I want to know why. Let's go upstairs."

Kaden stood next to him. "So be it."

Leading him to a room upstairs, Kaden quietly opened the door and closed it behind them. Lya slouched in a chair staring into the small fireplace in the room, much as she had downstairs. The mage looked over and rose quickly, slipping around Alistair and out the door. Lya looked over more slowly, frowning at the addition of a hooded stranger to the room. "Another stray, Kade?" Andraste's sword, even her voice sounded dead. How was that even possible?

"In a manner of speaking, Lya," Kaden answered as he lowered his hood.

"Then welcome, unfortunate traveler. Hopefully your stay with us will be short. We don't seem to keep very happy company here." Kaden sighed and gestured for Alistair to lower his hood.

Lya was still looking at them as he did so, and he watched her carefully. Her expression didn't change as he did so, but he noticed her hands began to tremble slightly. She just looked at him and then her eyes slid closed.

"I've gone mad. I'm mad or dead. This cannot be happening. There's no way this is happening, not now." She opened her eyes to look at him again and then turned her head away quickly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead in her hands. Her breathing had gotten shallow and her voice took on a desperate quality.

"Oh, Maker, let this end. I can't do this. This isn't real. It's not real. Oh, please, let this end, I just want it to end." Alistair was suddenly reminded of Cullen, the templar in the Circle Tower. His mind had been so close to breaking by the time they found him, and seeing her now, he realized Lya's mind was even closer to that point.

"Lya," Kaden said. No response. "Lya, look at me," Kaden ordered and she turned, almost unwillingly, towards them again. Her eyes were wide and her skin, already pale, had taken on an unhealthy pallor. "This is real. You are not mad and you are not dead. This isn't some nightmare you're trapped in. Alistair is really here and you need to tell him. Whatever it is that you cannot tell the rest of us, you need to tell him."

"No," she moaned. "Don't do this to me, Kade, please don't. I can't…can't bear it." She looked at him desperately. "Please," she whispered again, her voice almost begging.

Kaden shook his head. "Tell him, Lya. If you ever cared about him, he deserves to know why. He deserves that much. You _owe_ him that much." Lya's eyes widened even more if that were possible and she stared at him in shock. Then her shoulders slumped and an expression of defeat replaced the shock on her face. She let her hands fall to dangle between her knees and she stared at the floor.

"Fine," she said hoarsely. Kaden nodded once, and left the room quickly.

Alistair looked back and forth between the closed door and Lya, unsure of what to do. Eventually he moved to the chair across from her and sat. She was going to tell him why she had betrayed him and she was going to look him in the face when she did it. Unbidden, the anger began to return, and by the time he spoke it had returned in full force, nearly matching what he had felt at the Landsmeet.

"So tell me," he said, his voice grating harshly, "why did you did you betray me, Lya? Considering everything we did leading up to it, you had better have a damn good answer."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When Kade had entered the room with the stranger, Lya hadn't really thought anything of it. It had happened before. Kade would extend a helping hand to someone in need and after a few days they would drift off again. She was the only one who seemed to stick around. She wondered again why she didn't just leave, didn't just take off on them like she had with Zevran.

And then the stranger lowered his hood and Lya knew she had gone insane. There was no way he was here. It wasn't possible. She was insane or dead. Dead would probably be better, but either way she knew reality had ceased to exist. She felt the trembling in her hands and wanted nothing more than for this to be over. It was too cruel. It was too much to bear.

It wasn't until she heard Kade replying to her that she realized she had been speaking out loud. He was trying to reassure her and was telling her…that she needed to tell Alistair why? She begged him not to, but he was relentless. He used her guilt against her like a cudgel, beating down her defenses until she yielded. And yield she did. She was too tired to fight anymore.

"So tell me, why did you did you betray me, Lya? Considering everything we did leading up to it, you had better have a damn good answer."

Lya closed her eyes, accepting the anger in his words and nodded. She looked back into the fire, gathering her thoughts. She finally squared her shoulders and looked directly at him. "I didn't betray you."

* * *

For a moment, he couldn't believe what he had heard. "How dare you?" he exploded in rage, hurling himself out of his chair to glare down at her. She flinched back from his anger, closing her eyes and turning away as if steeling herself for a blow. "Your friend out there shows up, turns my life upside down and asks me to hear what you have to say! I agree, Maker knows why, only to sit here and have you lie to my face? That's it, I'm done!" He turned towards the door. This was ridiculous. Why had he even agreed to it in the first place? Some stupid hope that there was a reasonable explanation? He truly was a fool.

"Alistair, please," she pleaded in a hoarse whisper and there was something in it to make him hesitate. "Just…just please, let me talk. You want to know why, and you deserve to, though Maker knows what good it can possibly do now. I've never told anyone what I'm going to tell you. I've never wanted to tell anyone but you and I didn't think I would ever have the chance. I'm probably going to do a poor job of it, but please, just listen." She looked directly at him as she said that, her eyes asking him to give her at least this one chance. Alistair reluctantly sat back in his chair. Clenching his jaws shut around the torrent of anger he wanted to hurl at her, he just nodded and gestured for her to continue.

She took several deep breaths, staring at the floor as she collected her thoughts. She finally looked up and began again. "Several weeks before the Landsmeet, I started having nightmares. The first night, I thought these were just the normal sort of nightmares Grey Wardens had." Her lips twisted bitterly. "But after the two or three more nights of having almost the same dream, I realized it was something different. The dreams were filled with darkspawn, and the archdemon was in them, but they weren't the point of the dream.

"Those other nightmares we had…they were upsetting and disturbing. But I was never truly scared of them. But these dreams…." She stopped for another deep breath, steeling herself to keep going. "These dreams _terrified_ me, Alistair. I would wake up convinced that what I had just dreamt was real. It took all I had to keep from screaming. I would look over and you'd just be sleeping peacefully. I don't know if you remember, but I practically tried to crawl under your skin. I just wanted to be held and told it was just a dream—that it didn't mean anything and that it was going to be all right."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. He had vague memories of what she was talking about. Several times he remembered being awoken by her shaking form clinging to him. He had asked her if everything was okay. She mumbled something about being cold and asked him to hold her. He had, and then gone back to sleep. In those weeks she had seemed to be under more stress, but they were all stressed and she never said anything about nightmares.

"Then why didn't you say anything? I was a Grey Warden, too. Nightmares about the darkspawn are something we should have talked about." But she was already shaking her head.

"I told you, that wasn't the point of my dreams. And I was afraid if I said anything, it would just make it real. It sounds stupid, but I was convinced that if I told you it would mean what I had seen really was going to happen. And I couldn't bear that. I probably could have dealt with anything else except what those nightmares showed me. Anything but that."

Lya swallowed convulsively, and for a minute she couldn't continue. Alistair saw the glitter of tears in her eyes and his frown deepened. She was badly shaken up, more so than he had ever seen her before. Even after that terrible business with Howe. He wanted to ask questions, but decided not to. Whatever she was remembering had taken over all of her thoughts. She was looking at him, but not really seeing him. Her eyes were wide and a faint sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

"It was always the same dream," she continued. "Night after night, for weeks, the same dream. And no matter what I did, it always ended the same." Her voice took on a panicked tone and her words seemed to tumble out. "Over and over and over again and it was always the same. And then I started to see it when I was awake." Her voice hitched as a sob caught in her throat. "Every time I looked at you, I could see it and that scared me even more. Oh, Maker, it was too much!" She broke off then, pressing her fists to her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs she could not longer control.

Alistair was becoming alarmed. Lya sat in her chair, rocking back and forth slightly, hands pressed to her mouth as silent sobs wracked her. Her pupils were dilated as if in shock and she seemed completely oblivious to anything around her. He heard himself asking the question, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"What did you see, Lya?"

Her gaze snapped back to him, her eyes filled with horror and grief. She struggled visibly to calm herself before the hysteria took over completely. "You died." Saying the words out loud seemed to give her the ability to continue. "You died again and again and I couldn't save you."

* * *

Lya fought against the urge to give into panic. She knew she was babbling. Alistair was looking at her as if she had gone insane, and she thought that to him she probably had. She had certainly wondered the same thing about herself in the last three years. She clenched her hands together, trying desperately to find some control. She had to explain to him exactly what she had seen and felt, to find a way to make him understand. If she could, then maybe she could find her release from this waking nightmare.

She began again, the determination to remain calm evident in her voice. "It always began the same. We were fighting somewhere high. There were corpses all around us—

corpses of darkspawn and soldiers. Men were screaming, pleading for someone to help them. I could hear the sounds of the darkspawn, their screams and shrieks mocking our efforts to bring them down. The sounds of battle were everywhere and below us the city burned.

"And it felt so real. I could feel the weight of my armor. Blood and sweat were running down the inside of it, soaking through the padding and rubbing my skin raw. My right arm felt as if it was on fire and my left arm was completely numb. Every muscle hurt, I was exhausted and a dozen different wounds screamed at me to stop and rest. I was covered in gore, and could barely keep Starfang in my fist it was so slick with blood.

"And you were right next to me, looking exactly like I felt. I knew as soon as I saw you that we had won at the Landsmeet. I didn't know how, but I knew that the Landsmeet supported us. You were to be king and it felt _right_." She stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. "But as right as it felt, there was also something terribly wrong. And then _it_ screamed. Holy Andraste, the sound of it!" She shuddered, unclasping her hands to wrap her arms around herself.

"I looked and there it was. The archdemon. It was…_hideous_. Deformed and monstrous and evil. Black ichor dripped from looked like hundreds of wounds. It screamed its rage at us. It couldn't escape, but it could still kill us all. It had to be finished. And that's when I _knew_ and the true horror of the dream began."

Lya looked at Alistair. "I knew one of us was going to die. I wasn't sure how or why. There was just this awful certainty that one of us wasn't going to survive the battle." She choked back a sob. "I was so scared! I didn't want to die, but losing you would have been worse.

"So there we were, you and I," she said softly. Her voice had gotten steadier as she spoke. The very act of sharing this terrible burden lessened it and made it easier to finish. "The last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden and one of us was going to die. And it was going to be me. That I also knew. I, after all, was expendable." Alistair started to say something and she held up a hand. "Let me finish. It's so close now, so let me finish.

"I was expendable _because_ we had won at the Landsmeet. You were the king, Alistair. No matter what happened, Ferelden would need you. You had a duty to your people to see them through what would follow. But me? No, I had nothing else to do but finish off the corrupted god and see that you would be safe to do your duty."

Her look softened then and the pain in her face faded away. "And I would have done it gladly. I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone else in my life. There is nothing I wouldn't have given to save you. You were the best thing that had ever happened to me. At one time I had thought my life was over, that there was nothing left to live for. But you found me and saved me. Whenever I thought I couldn't go on, you were always there to help me back up. You made me whole again.

"And my biggest regret at that moment was not that I was going to die, but that I had never told you exactly what you meant to me, not really. You'd told me a hundred different ways how much you loved me, but I had never told you how completely my heart belonged to you—that you were really the only reason I had done everything that I had. I felt like such a fool. But I knew that if my last act in this life was to die saving you, then I could go to the Maker happy. I raised my sword and prepared myself to finish my duty.

"But that's not what happened. No, instead what happened is that you broke my heart."

Lya closed her eyes again, the pain returning and feeling just as sharp and bitter as when she first had these nightmares three years ago. "I readied myself…and you stopped me. Each time in these dreams you stopped me. You said that you would be the one to do it and I couldn't stop you. I tried everything I could think of and nothing worked.

"I tried ordering you and you laughed. I argued, screamed, cried and begged…and nothing worked. I even tried attacking you." She laughed softy, bitterly. "As if I could ever hurt you and you knew it.

"You would kiss me, tell me you loved me, and then push me away and race towards the archdemon. And I could never catch you, never stop you in time. And each time, you slew the archdemon and…died." The real tears came now. They ran freely down her cheeks and she made no attempt to wipe them away. "If the dream had ended then, I might have been able to bear it. But it went on. I saw your body, so cold and still waiting on its pyre. You looked so peaceful and I was so angry. How dare you be at peace and leave me to this? How dare you leave me alone? You were all I had and you took that away. I wanted to hate you for that, but I couldn't. There was only this terrible ache in my chest, this awful loneliness, and I knew it would never go away.

"I watched you burn, your ashes drifting towards the sky, until there was nothing left. And the people rejoiced. How could they not? A great king had come and saved them. They would live and your sacrifice would be forever honored. Ferelden was saved, the world was saved, the Grey Wardens were redeemed and you were a hero. And I didn't care. Here were all these people congratulating and thanking me, praising all that we had done. No one really cared that you were dead. They were still alive, so why should they care?

"All I could think of was that I was alone! That I-!" she broke off suddenly, her tears coming harder and the sobs shaking her body. "I would have given _anything_ if it meant I could see you once more! I would have paid any price to be able to hold you, to tell you how much I loved you. But I couldn't. I was going to have to live with this for the rest of my life like this. There wouldn't be anybody to save me this time and I knew I wasn't strong enough to bear it. And _then_ I would wake up.

"I went through this every night for a month and a half. I don't know how I managed to keep it hidden so well. I thought I was going to fly apart at any moment. I knew it was real. And then we came to the Landsmeet. It…unnerved me. Everything felt so right, like it was all going according to plan, except in the back of my mind I knew where that plan was going to lead. And so when Loghain surrendered, I faltered. And when Riordan made his suggestion, I saw a way out."

Lya looked at him and everything in her being begged him to understand. "What I meant to say was that I never meant to betray you. That's the last thing I would ever do to you. But I was so _scared_. I thought that even if we won, I was still going to lose you. I thought that if someone could die in your place, someone who deserved to die, then it would all be okay. I knew you would be angry at me, but I thought that as long as I could explain, everything would still work out.

"And then you demanded I name you king and everything started to spiral out of control. If I did that, you would execute Loghain and I would lose you. I didn't know what to do and I panicked." She stopped talking suddenly and shook her head. "When Anora called for your execution I thought I was going to be sick. How could she even ask that? And we all know what happened next."

Lya stood up and walked over to Alistair. She dropped to her knees in front of him, her shoulders bowed in grief and defeat, and her expression desperate. "I know you hate me for what I did. I deserve it. I deserve it and so much more. But please believe me that I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to betray you. All I wanted to do was to keep from losing you, except all I did was guarantee that I would lose you." She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"I'm sorry. I have no right to ask for forgiveness, I know that, so I won't ask for it. There's only one thing I would ask of you, Alistair. One very small thing and I will never trouble you again."

"What?" he asked, the question almost dragged from him. She looked back up and she was very calm, almost peaceful.

"Kill me. I'm too much of a coward to do it myself. When I'm fighting alone, all of my upbringing and training prevents me from letting those things win. And when I fight with others, I can't risk that my cowardice will get them hurt or killed. I thought about going to the Deep Roads, but…." She shuddered as she recalled a memory that had scarred them both. "So this is all I ask of you now: Kill me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Alistair looked down at her in horror. He had listened to her talk and found that he believed every word, as incredible as it seemed. It wasn't just that she clearly believed everything she said—it all rang true to him. Everything started falling into place in his mind. All of her behavior leading up to the Landsmeet, everything that happened at that meeting, the things he had seen in her face and eyes. And in the face of that truth, he found his animosity slipping away.

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He remembered telling her that and how she had seemed startled by it. Being completely honest with himself now, even after all of the pain and heartache, she was probably still the best thing that had ever happened to him. Yes, he had known agony because of her, but he had also never been happier than when they were together.

The part of her dream where he killed the archdemon is what disturbed him the most because he could clearly see it in his mind's eye. If he had been there, that's the way it would have happened. The Maker himself couldn't have prevented him from taking that final blow and sparing her. The thought of going on without her would have been unbearable.

As he listened to her story, he found himself filled with self-loathing. How had he missed it? He had loved her so much and had never noticed that she was suffering through such anguish every night for weeks. And then another thought occurred to him. Had he really missed it or had he ignored it? Had he sensed something was wrong and been so afraid that he hadn't asked? He truly didn't know. He hoped that wasn't the case.

Alistair thought back to the Landsmeet again, looking at it with fresh eyes and was ashamed. He should have known. He knew her, didn't he? He had trusted her completely. Her actions were so baffling that he should have known something was very wrong. But had he cared? No, he hadn't. At that moment he had been unable to see anything except the wrong he thought was being done to him. He could have waited, could have asked her why she had done this, but instead he let his rage take over. And so he had left her, walked out and abandoned both her and everything they had done together.

"There's nothing I wouldn't have given to save you."

What had he done? Maker's breath, he had taken the best thing he had ever found in his life and thrown it away like a piece of trash. And now, despite all that she had suffered, all the wrongs he had done to her, she thought she was to blame. She knelt before him, asking him to end to her life and her pain.

For one hideous moment, his mind supplied the image to him. He saw himself running her through with Duncan's sword, her blood flowing over the hilt and his hand to spread on the floor—her form crumpling to the floor with the light forever leaving her eyes. His mind even told him that she would thank him for it. And then he pushed the image away with revulsion. If he did that, he was truly beyond any redemption. Without fully realizing it, he shook his head, denying the image and the truth that at one time he would have done it, and gladly. He wasn't even aware that Lya was still looking at him for an answer.

* * *

Lya saw him shake his head and felt the slim flicker of hope die. She had told him, explained as best she could, and it still hadn't been enough. The constant ache where her heart used to be sharpened. There was nothing left in her now. There was another reason she hadn't yet sought her death in the Deep Roads, a reason she hadn't told anyone. But with Alistair here now, that reason could also be gone and she could be free to seek her end.

She rose and went to her pack in the corner, removing a small wooden box. She walked back to Alistair and knelt before him again. The box was small and well worn. Holding it against her chest for a moment, she extended it to Alistair, who took it with a shaking hand. "I couldn't bring this to the Deep Roads with me and there's no one I could have given it to. Do with it what you will, but it frees me to go now."

* * *

Alistair looked at the box, the wood stained and scarred. The cover of the box was carved with the symbol for the Grey Wardens. He knew what he would see when he opened it and he took a deep breath before doing so.

A rose.

Perfect and unblemished, it looked as if it had been picked just moments ago. Alistair closed his eyes and his mind took him back to when he had given it to her. It had been, oddly enough, when they were in the ruined temple, looking for the Sacred Ashes. They had stopped for the "night," resting before clearing out the rest of the foulness. Alistair was digging rations out of his pack when he came across it. He had been debating giving it to her for over a week now, trying to figure out the perfect moment.

He looked over at Lya, sitting against a wall and looking utterly exhausted. It probably wasn't the best time to give her this, but she looked so lonely that Alistair had to try something to cheer her up. He slid down to sit next to her and held the flower out to her.

"Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?"

She had taken it from him, looking at him curiously. "That's a rose."

"I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

She was quiet for a long moment, before smiling at him. "That's a nice sentiment."

"I thought I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

A faint blush rose on her cheeks when he said that, as if she were embarrassed. But her smile grew and her eyes had danced with the pleasure of the compliment. "Thank you, Alistair. That's a lovely thought."

"I'm glad you like it."He smiled back at her, and then grew somber. "I was just thinking…here I am doing all this complaining and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy.

"I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."

"I feel the same way about you."

"I'm glad you like it. Now…if we could move right on past this awkward embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."

She had grinned at him then, her eyes dancing mischievously. "Sounds good. Off with the armor, then."

He laughed nervously, feeling his cheeks flush. "Bluff called! Damn! She saw right through me."

The teasing went out of her eyes, and she stared at him with _that_ look. The way she would look at you as if she were staring right through you had unnerved him a bit when he first met her. It felt like she was stripping him of all his armor, all his defenses and she could see the real Alistair underneath.

He had made a joke then to cover his nervousness and the same thing had happened a few times since. He often felt so inadequate next to others, especially her. She was so strong, so sure of herself. If she saw who he really was underneath all the jokes and fooling around, she would find him wanting, just like everyone else always had. And he didn't want that. He liked her, really liked her. He was surprised by how strongly he felt towards her. He had been afraid the whole time he worked up the courage to give her the rose that she would laugh at him for such a sappy gesture.

"Why must it be a bluff?"

He leered down at her. "Well, it doesn't have to be a bluff." But she wasn't teasing him now. She was completely serious, completely focused on him and waiting for an answer. He felt his glib reply faltering, as that odd tension grew between them. Was he really seeing what he thought he saw in her face?

It's just that we're, ah...not alone. That works as an excuse, no?

Something wicked gleamed in her eye and he felt himself blushing furiously, silently cursing his reaction. What was it about this woman that managed to unsettle him so? "I'll be…"he laughed nervously, trying to keep his voice from going up an octave. "I'll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is."

As he practically fled from her, he could feel her eyes still watching him. But she didn't laugh. That was something that occurred to him as he sat across the small room, trying not to stare at her. She might laugh at his stupid jokes and foolish antics, but she never laughed _at_ him.

* * *

He opened his eyes to see Lya still kneeling, her face buried in her hands, shaking with renewed sobs. Looking at her, at the pain she was in, Alistair realized Kaden had been right about something else. He did still love her, so much it made him ache. He also realized that now he would not be able to live without her again. They had hurt each other so much, he didn't even know if reconciliation were possible. The wounds might go too deep. And Alistair realized he had another choice to make tonight. He could hold onto all his hurt and anger…or he could let it go. The scars would take time to heal and fade, but he didn't have to keep ripping the wounds open. And he had his answer. He had lost her once to his foolish pride and unwillingness to take a chance—he wasn't going to do it again.

He set the box down gently, slid off the chair to kneel before her and pulled Lya into his arms. She stiffened and attempted to pull back, letting out a small cry of alarm. Alistair merely tightened his arms and after a few moments she stopped resisting. He pulled back to look at her and saw the confusion in her face. He reached up and very gently brushed back that one wayward lock of hair that always seemed to fall over her eye.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry, Alistair, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry." She repeated it over and over like a litany until Alistair shook her gently to get her to stop.

"Stop it, Lya. Just stop. You have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong." She started to object and he covered her mouth with his hand. Speaking carefully, he said, "I listened to you. Now listen to what I have to say." He looked her full in the face. "If anyone should be apologizing here, it's me. I believe everything you've told me tonight. And had I been in your place, I would have done the same thing. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me?" He punctuated his words with another little shake. "Your dream was right, you know. Had I been there, I would've never let you die in my place. I couldn't have lived with myself afterward. It would have felt like I killed you myself.

"But in my anger, I did just about the same thing, didn't I? I abandoned you when you needed me the most. In my ignorance, I faulted you for doing something very few people have done for me—I faulted you for loving me. You loved me and I threw it away. I'll never forgive myself for doing that." He pulled her back against him, cradling her to him as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. She felt so good in his arms. He had forgotten how good she felt to hold.

She shifted, freeing her arms so she could wrap them around his neck and press her face against the curve of his shoulder. He felt her tears warm on his neck and felt his own running down his face. For a long time they just held each other, letting their grief run its course. After a while, Alistair pulled back to look at Lya again. He used his thumb to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he decided to risk it all.

"I love you, Lya. I need to know if you still love me."

She regarded him gravely, that same direct stare that always made his breath catch in his throat. "I have always loved you, Alistair. I will never stop loving you."

"Good." And he kissed her. It was a shy, awkward thing. It had been so long, and they were so unsure of themselves with each other. They might still love each other, but the pain they had caused was still raw and fresh. They broke apart, breathing heavily. His arms tightened around her even more, if that were even possible, very nearly crushing her and she sighed against him. He trailed a line of kisses down her throat and she threaded her hands through his dark blond hair.

Alistair groaned and pulled away, his breathing ragged. This was going too fast. His need for her shocked him. He knew what he felt and he was rapidly losing control. "Lya," he gasped, "I want you. Right now. It's probably a really bad idea, but if we don't stop now, I'm not going to be able to." She pressed herself more fully against him and kissed him again. When they stopped to breathe, she whispered against his lips.

"I don't want you to stop."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Their lovemaking began a lot like the first time. They took their time, exploring each other and getting reacquainted. They both knew they were on dangerous ground and that one misstep could bring everything down around them.

Lya was troubled by the new scars that covered him. She traced each one, following fingertips with lips, kissing each one, as if to soothe the pain of the old wounds. When she discovered the one over his heart, she gasped, realizing how close to death he had been. He pressed her hand against it so she could feel his heart beating underneath it to reassure her that he really was fine.

When Alistair went to undress her, she shied back a little from him, suddenly embarrassed. "What's wrong?" he asked softly. She looked away from him, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm not as…pretty as I used to be," she answered, a slight tremor in her voice.

He knew instantly what she meant. For most of their travels, they had access to healing magic. Even though they used healing poultices, Wynne had been able to remove most of the damage done to their bodies in battle. Even old scars faded and disappeared in time as they were repeatedly exposed to the magical energies. But since then, they hadn't had access to that. Years of fighting would have taken the same toll on her body that they had on his.

"_You think I'm beautiful?"_

The question startled him the first time she had asked it, before he learned she had always been uncertain about that. She had struggled for years in Highever to be seen for her merits on the field, not simply for her looks or station. It was always a challenge for a noblewoman who aspired to the life of fighter. In order to be seen as a capable warrior on the field, she had pretended she didn't like dancing or being pampered. He had delighted in teasing those bits of information out of her. His fearless leader, who could take as much pleasure in picking out a dress or having a scented bath as she could in leading them into battle and ridding the world of villains.

Alistair lifted her face to make her look at him, and never taking his eyes from hers, he undressed her. She moved to make it easier, not resisting, but still with the troubled look in her eyes. When he was done, he looked down at her. In the firelight, her skin nearly glowed. She was thinner, but not as badly as he had feared. To one not familiar with her body, it would have been practically unnoticeable. But _he_ knew. The scars she was ashamed of were there, and it made something inside of Alistair hurt, to see the visible signs of her suffering. Despite all of that, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

He repeated what she had done for him. Ever so gently, he found each imperfection and kissed it. "If I could," he breathed against her skin, "I would kill each and every bastard who ever hurt you." He paused and grinned at her. "Of course, I suppose I would have to include myself in that group, and at this moment, I very much want to go on living." She laughed shakily and then everything was all right again.

He considered taking her to the bedroom, but feared moving would break the spell they found themselves under. Their first time had been in a forgotten campsite, a couple of bedrolls beneath them providing the only protection against the cold, rocky ground. He thought it was fitting that their reunion was similarly imperfect, on the floor of a small inn room in a foreign land, a worn braided rug the only softness. And very soon, it didn't matter to either of them where they were.

Their joining was not romantic and tender. It was desperate and needy and frantic, hearts seeking to heal wounds with their bodies.

Afterwards, he lay next to her, watching her sleep. He had always loved watching her sleep. It was the one time he felt like he was protecting her instead of the other way around. Awake, she had borne the responsibility for all of their safety. He had wanted to ease that burden from her, but back then he hadn't known how. So he guarded her as she slept.

Taking care not to disturb her, he left her side only briefly to fetch a blanket from the bedroom. The fire had started to burn low and the floor of the room wasn't that comfortable, but he didn't want to disturb her. After a time, she stirred and woke. He pulled her against him tightly and they talked quietly. They reminisced about their adventures and tentatively told about what they had done in their time apart.

"I went back to Soldier's Peak, you know. I hope you don't mind, but I, uh, sort of stole some stuff. Well, I guess it's not really stealing, but since I said I had left the Wardens and I snuck in without asking permission…well, you know." She nodded against his chest.

"I thought that it might have been you, considering what was missing. Levi was upset that Duncan's weapons had been taken, but I'd hoped it was you. I've only been back to Soldier's Peak that one time, though. Fergus had begged me to come back for his wedding and I couldn't deny him. I stopped on my way back out of Ferelden to make sure the Drydens were all right."

Alistair stared at her in shock. "Fergus is alive?" he asked. "Oh, Lya, I didn't know. That's wonderful."

"I know. It was about the only good thing that came after the Battle of Denerim. Anora made sure the teyrnir was his again, and he set back to work repairing the damage. He remarried just over a year ago. I know it's been hard on him, but I think he managed to put the rest of it behind him." She paused and looked at Alistair. "I should let you know that my big brother doesn't like you very much."

Alistair winced. "Ouch. Is this your way of telling me that if we ever visit, I should keep my armor on at all times?"

She laughed. "Maybe."

Lya grew silent after awhile and he looked down. The expression on her face told him she was thinking, so he waited, not wanting to push or pry. Eventually she looked up at him and said, "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but I need to know. I won't be mad, but I don't think there should be any secrets between us. Not anymore. Since we've been…apart, have you…?"

"_If you were raised in the Chantry, does that mean you've never…?"_

She flushed the same way she did then and Alistair pulled her against him tightly. He knew what she was asking and knew that after what had happened he couldn't keep anything from her, whether it was hurtful or not. He could feel the tension in her and gently stroked her back, soothing her.

"You can probably guess where I spent most of my time, right?" he asked and she nodded. He sighed. "I won't lie. I did." He could feel the immediate stiffness in her, but knew he had to finish. "Looking back on it now, I realize I was trying to hurt you. It sounds really, _really_ stupid, but there it is. It's not like you were even there to hurt.

"I was just so _angry_. And if you weren't there to take it out on, my memories seemed like the next best thing. I hated the way I couldn't let go, couldn't get you out of my head. I just wanted to forget you, forget what we had been and what we had…." He had to stop when the feel of her tears on his skin caused his throat to close up.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't!" he said almost savagely. "Don't you dare apologize. My choices were my own, Lya. However much they hurt me, or however much they hurt you—and I know it does and I'm sorry—but they were still _my choices_. No one held a knife to my throat and forced me to do anything. Regardless of why I left, I still choose everything that I did."

He drew a ragged breath. "I can't…I can't change it, Lya. But you deserved to know.

"I…I understand."

"Do you? Then you've got one on me because I'm not sure I do." After a short pause, he asked, "What about you?"

"No," she said quietly. "There wasn't any point. I didn't want anyone else except…you."

A swift jolt of satisfaction went through him, a sort of possessiveness at the thought that she was still his, had always been his. It was immediately followed by guilt—guilt that what he had done had left her so damaged she was unable to go on, unable to find any solace.

Pulling her against him a little more, he tucked the blanket around them. There was really nothing to say, at least nothing that could do any good. So they held each other, falling asleep in each other's arms for the first time in too long.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The insistent knock on the door startled both Alistair and Lya awake. They sat up quickly, Lya clutching the blanket to her chest. Through the door came Kaden's muffled voice. "If you two will make yourselves decent, we need to talk."

"Uh, just a minute!" Alistair replied quickly, already moving to gather his clothes and cursing the man under his breath. Lya was also hurriedly pulling on her garments. Her movements were quick and jerky and Alistair knew the spell-like daze they had spent the last couple of hours in had broken. His heart gave a little lurch. Was she going to pull away now? Had everything they had just been through not been enough?

She was settling her shirt into place when he placed his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened and would have pulled away, but he tightened his grip and held her. Slowly, he turned her around to face him. She kept her face down, refusing to meet his gaze. Gently, he turned her face up to look at him and he saw the fear in her eyes.

* * *

Lya forced herself to look at Alistair. For a little while she had dared to hope that things would work out. But how realistic was that? Once he had a chance to think about it, Alistair would go back to hating her. How could he not? She had ceased being worthy of him a long time ago.

"Lya."

The tenderness, the love, in his voice made her want to cry. She tried to convince herself that she was imagining it, that she was only hearing what she wanted. But she saw the same love in his face. He grinned down at her crookedly, the smile in his eyes matching the one on his lips. With great tenderness, he cupped his free hand around the back of her head and placed a kiss on her forehead. He had done that so often on the road—a small gesture to reassure her when they couldn't touch because of their armor. And Lya let herself begin to hope….

The door opened quietly, Kaden and Shaye figuring they had given them enough time. Seeing the two clasped together, they exchanged a brief, knowing look. They crossed the room to stand before Lya and Alistair. "There are some things we need to tell you before we say goodbye," Kaden said

Lya's eyes widened. "Say goodbye? What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"Don't worry about that. Come on, have a seat." He gestured to the couches, waiting until they had settled down before continuing, "I haven't been entirely honest with you.

"Do you remember when I left for a few months?" At her wordless nod, he went on. "I said I needed to check up on a few things. That's not true. Once I found out who you really were, what I actually did was go back to Ferelden to see your brother."

He ignored her startled gasp. "He asked me to look out for you and made sure we had enough money to make sure you were provided for. He asked me to look after you, keep you safe, and do what we could to help. That's why we've been looking for Alistair. When it became clear nothing else was going to snap you out of it, we figured he was our only chance."

Lya looked at Alistair, who seemed just as confused as she did. "So…you did all of this for _money_?"

"No, not for money. I haven't profited from this, Lya. I'm not simply a blade for hire, following orders for hard coin. If I hadn't wanted to help, no amount of gold from your brother could have convinced me otherwise." He moved to his pack in the room and extracted a heavy coin purse.

Placing it in her hand, he said, "This is what's left. Use it to go home, Lya." His lips tightened briefly. "Your brother wants you to come home. I think it would mean a great deal to him if you went, even if you don't intend to remain in Ferelden."

"But I…." She rubbed her forehead. "Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure yet. But…you don't need us anymore." His eyes flicked over to Alistair. "The two of you still have a lot to work through and you don't need us around messing that up."

"But…."

Kaden reached out and hugged Lya. "You'll be all right," he murmured. "You can do this." He gave her one last squeeze and released her.

Turning to Alistair, he held out an arm. Alistair grasped it and Kaden leaned in close. His voice was low, but Lya could still overhear him.

"…take time. I know you love her, but she's still a friend…go home…do both of you some good…."

When Kaden stepped back, Shayelyn caught her in a fierce hug.

"But I don't want you to leave," Lya protested.

"Oh, Lya," Shayelyn said, "I appreciate the thought, but it's best if we don't stay. We'll see each other again, I promise. When the two of you have had enough time to figure everything out, we'll stop in for a visit. Until then, worry about _you_."

With a last smile, she stepped back, giving Alistair a quick hug and murmuring something in his ear. They gathered their belongings and Kaden opened the door, leaning out to retrieve some items from the hall. As Alistair watched him stack the dragonbone armor and the pack, he frowned.

"Wait a minute…. How did you know to get my stuff?"

Kaden grinned. "Well, at first I hoped. And then when you didn't come back downstairs, I listened at the door and well…."

Feeling the hot flush creep up her cheeks, Lya looked down at the floor quickly. Her friends laughed gently, but not unkindly.

Kaden gave her a quick little salute. "Be well." He inclined his head at Alistair, and then with a hand on Shayelyn's back, they left.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Lya looked up at Alistair, suddenly feeling very alone and unsure.

* * *

"You have…odd friends."

Next to him, Lya sighed. "Tell me about it. I'm not even sure what just happened."

Reaching over to pluck the pouch from her hands, Alistair hefted it and then looked in, letting out a low whistle. "Well, this would be enough to take us anywhere we wanted to go, but we should probably take you to see your brother. What do you think…?" He trailed off as he looked back at her.

She sat with her arms wrapped around herself, her face miserable. "Lya?"

"How can this possibly work, Alistair?" she asked. "It can't change this quickly. It just can't. There's too much between us. How are we supposed to just forget it and move on like nothing happened?"

Setting the pouch down next to him, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. "It can't. We can't. I don't expect this to be easy, but I want to try. Maybe it won't work, but I…." His throat felt suddenly tight, the thought of her leaving—of her giving up on them—suddenly overwhelming. "I don't want to lose you again," he said huskily, trying to clear his throat. "We've got a second chance. Don't take it away from us."

She was silent for a long, long time. Long enough for him to begin to worry. Finally, she let out a ragged breath. "Going back to Ferelden is going to be…awkward."

"Sounds like I'll fit right in."

She gave a watery chuckle and swiped at her eyes with her sleeves. "The Grey Wardens probably aren't going to be happy to see either one of us."

He frowned. "Why wouldn't they be happy to see you? You only ended that pesky Blight-thing. I would think they'd love to see you.

Worrying at her bottom lip, she settled against him. "You're not the only one who left the Wardens, you know. Anora…." She winced as he flinched slightly at the name. "Anora gave the Wardens the Arling of Amaranthine to rebuild. Apparently, after I left, the First Warden wanted to name me Warden-Commander."

Alistair looked down at her thoughtfully, thinking how easy it would have been for her to slip into that role, how fitting it seemed. "That's quite an honor," he said quietly.

The bitter little laugh she let out ghosted across his skin. "Yes, well, it was an honor I wasn't there for, nor did I want it. Being a Warden lost what little charm it had after you left. Fergus told me when they couldn't find me they finally had to send an Orlesian. Gerard Caron…Gerod Caron, something like that. I don't know all the details because I didn't want to know. There was apparently trouble. A lot of Wardens died. Some people…blame me for not being there."

From her tone, Alistair could tell she also blamed herself. He rubbed her back soothingly. "You can't solve everyone's problems, Lya."

"I should probably try to solve problems that _should_ be mine, though." She shook her head dismissively. "I can't change that. We should probably report in at some point, but…. We can go to Highever, at least. I do want to see Fergus and I'm sure he'd let us stay with him for awhile."

For awhile. And then what? They couldn't stay in Highever forever, but with both of them pariahs to a degree, where would they go?

"And after that? Should we become traveling sell-swords? Roam Thedas in search of adventure and treasure?" His tone was teasing, but in a way his questions were very serious. Considering he had never expected tonight to ever happen, had never even thought it possible, he was at an absolute loss as to what they were supposed to do now.

"We could, if you wanted. Or we could…settle down?" she asked hopefully. "I'm a little tired of killing things. It might be nice to just have a chance to be _us_."

"I'd like that," he said softly. "We'll have to come up with something to do, though. I won't have you be a pauper and I don't like the idea of living off your brother's charity."

"That won't be an issue," she laughed gently. "I _am_ a teyrna. Might as well put it to good use."

Alistair frowned. "A teyrna? But I thought you said Fergus held Highever."

"Well, of course. I didn't mean Highever, I meant—" Lya went suddenly rigid in his arms. "Oh, Maker's blood, I forgot…. You don't know…."

"Know what? I mean, there are only two teyrnirs in Ferelden. If Fergus holds Highever then that just leaves…." The words died on his lips as his mind made the connection the connection.

Gwaren.

She was the teyrna of _Gwaren_.

The anger, forgotten for the last several hours, suddenly surged back through him, hot and sharp. He could feel her hands on his face, feel the muscles rippling along his jaw as he clenched his teeth and fought to urge to throw her off his lap.

Instead, he carefully placed his hands on her hips and slid her back onto the couch. He stood, paced restlessly for a few minutes before standing at the window, hands braced on either side of the frame and staring into the dark city streets.

"It wasn't my idea," Lya said behind him. "After…after everything was done, Anora gave it to me. She said the Hero of Ferelden deserved a reward and what was more fitting than for Gwaren to pass from one Hero to another?" She laughed, no humor in the sound. "I've never even been there."

"I can't believe you actually suggested we live in _Loghain Mac Tir's_ home."

The couch creaked slightly as she stood up, and her bare feet made little sound as she crossed the room. Her arms slid around his waist, pressing her form against his back.

"It's not his anything. He's _dead_, Alistair. He's nothing more than a pile of ash. And it wasn't the way it should have happened, but he's dead and you're _not_ and that's _all_ I care about. We don't have to go there—we don't have to go anywhere. We can burn the place down, if that's what you really want."

Alistair took a deep breath and then another. He lowered his arms and laid them over hers where they wound around him. It wasn't her, he told himself. She wasn't trying to hurt him.

"I'm sorry. It's not you, Lya. I'm not mad at you, but…I'm still…angry. I can't help it." He swallowed hard. "I don't want to be angry, but this is…going to take time."

She nodded against his back. "I know. And it's all right. We'll…we'll figure it out."

They stood at the window for a long time. Alistair pulled her around in front of him, holding her as the sky slowly lightened. Eventually, Lya reached up and stroked his cheek. "Let's go home."


	9. Chapter 9

This is the added chapter, giving at least some closure to the characters. I hope you've enjoyed this tale.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with white puffy clouds, as the ship finished its journey across the Waking Sea. On the deck, Lya paced back and forth, practically bouncing on her toes from excitement. She kept walking forward, trying to get a glimpse of Highever, and then back to Alistair, who stood at the railing, watching her with uncontained amusement.

They were going home.

The thought sang in her head, tumbling over and over and filling her with anticipation and joy. _They_, she and Alistair, were going _home_.

It had been nearly two months since they had been brought back together. She wouldn't pretend—it had been difficult. They were still figuring out how to be together again, how to fit back into each other's lives. She had never realized how much fighting the Blight had driven their relationship. Back then, they hadn't been able to leave, both caught up by duty. It had driven them closer, providing ties to bind them to one another.

They didn't have that now. Inadvertent comments had set them off in the beginning and they each felt the temptation to run, to flee, and to take what seemed to be the easier path. There were still issues of anger and trust between them, which made it harder. They fought now, the worst argument culminating in Lya throwing Alistair out of their room and Alistair staying away for two days.

But it was getting better. And in a strange way, having to _work_ at their relationship made it deeper. They kept nothing from each other—no matter how awful they were feeling or how much it upset them. That kind of brutal honesty probably wouldn't always be necessary, but for now, it worked.

And she felt so much better. She had gained some weight back and simply the way it caused her armor to fit better had been a cause for celebration. She was stronger, too. Using blunted weapons to spar with Alistair served the dual purpose of working out tension between them and improving their skills and bodies. Nightmares of what had happened no longer haunted her sleep.

She still occasionally woke up at night, though, gripped by a sudden fear that this wasn't real and that she was still alone. But when this happened now, she woke Alistair, telling him what she was afraid of and letting him soothe her with words and touch. If only she had done this before….

With a shake of her head, Lya dismissed the thought. No, there was no room for what if's and could have been's. That was done and over with and they had right now to focus on.

They were going home.

_Together_.

The ship made the final adjustments to bring them to the docks and Lya settled against Alistair, her fingers intertwined with his. Their armor and weapons were packed into a trunk for the voyage, and it was still just a bit odd to travel together dressed in regular clothes like _normal_ people. The novelty of being able to reach out and touch him whenever she wanted hadn't yet worn off.

Alistair looked at her and squeezed her hand in response. He had grown more nervous the closer they had gotten to Ferelden.

"It'll be fine."

"Really? Because I seem to recall you being the one who told me your brother didn't like me very much."

"He'll get over it."

"Yes, well, I'd like to still be breathing when he does."

She laughed. "He won't be that bad."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. If I were him, I'd want to kill me."

She frowned. "We're both to blame in this. I'll make sure he understands that."

"Good luck with that," he snorted. After a pause, he said, "And who knows what Anora's going to do."

"She's not going to do anything." When he started to speak, she glared at him. "She's _not_! So I don't want to hear anything about that again."

A grin pulled up a corner of his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

Once the ship had docked, Lya and Alistair got their packs and the trunk with their belongings and disembarked. They wove through the crowd, avoiding workers, passengers and carts. A brief chat with a porter, a flash of her signet ring and an exchange of coins arranged for their trunk to be brought to the castle.

Turning to Alistair, Lya asked, "The castle is a couple hours away by foot. We could hire a carriage or horses, but I think I'd like to walk. Is that's all right?"

"That's fine."

So they walked, hand in hand, along the main road that would take them to Castle Cousland. As soon as they were clear of Highever's walls, the castle was clearly visibly in the distance, as it stood upon a rise. She could feel Alistair tense slightly, and sought to reassure him. She wasn't really sure how Fergus was going to react to him. She hoped it wasn't as badly as Alistair was expecting.

She talked as they walked, relating stories and anecdotes of growing up in Highever. She knew she had told some of these stories before, but the goal was to distract Alistair. It seemed to work. For most of the journey, he relaxed, talking and asking questions, laughing easily at her jokes.

As they approached the castle gates, the tension returned to Alistair and Lya felt a little bit of it herself. She took a deep breath. There was no reason to be nervous. She was home and reasonably certain that Fergus was going to be very happy about that.

The gates stood open, as they normally did, with a pair of knights standing guard. It was almost the same warm, welcoming feel she had known most of her life here. Almost. There were soldiers on the battlements, more than when she had been growing up, eyes on the horizon, ever vigilant against attack.

It made Lya wonder if Fergus would ever really feel safe in his home again.

Of the two knights at the gate, Lya only recognized one, from her only visit back to Highever. "Ser…Galen, is it? Could you tell me if my brother's home?"

"M-My lady? You've returned?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Ser Galen smiled broadly. "Welcome home, my lady. Yes, you're brother's home. Ser Oisin," he said to the other knight. "Go, quickly! Tell his lordship that his sister's returned."

The other knight, a young man clearly just past his squiring, nodded and dashed through the gates into the castle. Ser Galen called for some men to come take places at the gates, and waited until they got there. Then he bowed briefly and gestured for them to enter the gates, falling step beside them.

Ser Oisin must have found Fergus quickly, for they were no more than halfway across the courtyard when he came through the doors, saw her, and ran to her with a shout, "Lya!"

Lya let go of Alistair's hand and ran to meet him. He caught her up in a crushing hug, spinning her around with a whoop of joy. When he finally set her back down, she was breathless and smiling so hard she thought her face might crack. Fergus put her hands on her shoulders, holding her out at arm's length. "Let me look at you."

She stood still while he took her in, knowing that to him she must look so much better. "You look so good," he murmured. "I can hardly believe it. What happened?"

"He happened." She glanced back over her shoulder, looking at Alistair as he slowly closed the distance between them. Fergus followed her gaze, hands tightening on her shoulders as he realized exactly who had accompanied her.

* * *

Alistair's steps slowed as he walked to Lya and Fergus. The teyrn was clearly overjoyed to see his sister and Lya was no less happy at seeing her brother. He could hear them talking quietly as he approached, and then saw Lya look back at him. Her brother looked up, seeing what she was looking at, and his eyes darkened, becoming hard. Alistair swallowed as Fergus carefully let go of Lya and walked towards him.

The set of the man's man, the tension in his shoulders and arms, the way his boot heels clicked a little too loudly on the stone told Alistair exactly what to prepare for. He tried to relax, to resist the urges ingrained by a decade of training and fighting.

The first blow caught him in the jaw, and he tried to move with it, lessen the impact. The second took him in the gut, causing him to stumble and lose his footing, falling on his backside to the flagstones of the courtyard. He was already getting back up when Fergus hit him again, knocking him back down. His hands clenched into fists, but he wasn't going to hit back. He could only hope Fergus didn't feel the need to beat him to death.

"Fergus!"

He heard Lya's horrified cry, saw her come up to grab her brother's arm. Fergus shook her off.

"Get up," Fergus grated at him and Alistair did, ignoring the pain in his face and gut. He turned his head to the side and spat blood, but kept his eyes on Lya's brother. He noted vaguely that there were others filing into the courtyard, curious as to what was happening, but he ignored them. The man's fists were hard and he didn't really want to be taken by surprise.

Fergus was drawing back to land another blow when Lya thrust herself between the two men.

"Stop it!"

"Get out of the way, little sister."

"Move, Lya."

Fergus looked faintly surprised that Alistair had agreed with him. Lya just looked at them as if they were both insane.

"What is _wrong_ with the two of you? Damn it, Fergus, I said stop!" She glared at her brother. "So help me, Alistair might not hit you, but if you hit him again, _I will_!"

For a moment, Fergus continued to glare, his stance still ready to fight. Then he stepped back, lowering his fist, though his glare didn't abate.

"Dara!" he called and a dark-haired woman separated herself from the small crowd. When she reached them, he said, "Take Lya inside." The woman nodded, but Lya refused to budge.

"No way. The moment I leave you're just going to hit him again."

"I'm not going to hit him."

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

Now Fergus fixed his glare on his sister and Alistair realized stubbornness must be a Cousland trait and not something unique to Lya.

"I give you my word I won't hit him."

That seemed to mollify Lya a bit, but she still stood between them. Finally she held out her hand, palm up, in front of her brother. He looked at it, and then with a muffled curse, bent down and removed a dagger from his boot. He slapped into Lya's open palm. "Satisfied?"

She nodded. "I'll let you two…talk." She gave her brother a warning look, then hugged Alistair, giving him a quick kiss and murmuring in his ear, "If he hits you, hit back. I won't let him blame you for this."

Stepping back, she turned towards Dara and extended her arm, walking into the castle while a servant followed with their packs. Fergus waited until the crowd had dispersed and then jerked his head, indicating for Alistair follow him. He led them up to the battlements, dismissing the soldiers. For a moment, Alistair wondered if Fergus intended to keep his word to Lya by simply tossing him off the parapet. No hitting or stabbing required for that.

They stood in silence as long, awkward minutes passed. Alistair probed his teeth with his tongue. None appeared loose, for which he was grateful.

Fergus finally broke the silence. "How?"

"Um, not to be rude, but could you be a bit more specific?"

A muscle ticked in Fergus's cheek. "How did she get better? How did she end up coming back home? When she was here, she was so lost…. I tried. I tried to help, and nothing worked." He looked over and Alistair saw the pain in his eyes. "How did you do it?"

Alistair felt incredibly uncomfortable, and tugged at his collar, trying to relieve the sudden pressure he felt. "I'm not sure," he finally confessed. "It started when the people you asked to look after her found me. It was a last resort apparently. They forced us to meet and…." He shrugged. "It sort of went from there."

"I'm supposed to believe that? After what happened, after the state she was in, I'm supposed to believe the two of you met and it was suddenly flowers and kittens and everything was all right?"

Shaking his head, Alistair said, "No, it wasn't like that at all. There was yelling and crying and a whole lot of anger. We had a lot of stuff to work through. We're still working through it."

"I see." Silence descended between them again, though Alistair thought he detected a decrease in Fergus's hostility.

"So what did happen between you?"

Alistair wondered how to answer that. He couldn't tell Fergus that the whole thing had been the result of Lya's frayed nerves and overtaxed mind—a product of her fears and her inability to turn to him with it. Or that she had been strained so badly because he had been the one who pushed so much responsibility onto her, had left it to her to make all of the hard decisions and bear the responsibility for them.

He just shook his head slightly. Let others wonder. This pain was theirs, something private, and it shouldn't be shared.

"All right," Fergus said quietly when he saw Alistair wasn't going to answer. "I'm curious, but not enough to jeopardize whatever's working." He pursed his lips and leaned against the battlements. "What are you intentions?"

"What?" The question startled Alistair.

"What _exactly_ are your intentions towards my little sister? I know you're probably already sleeping with her again." Alistair felt the flush rush to his face and down his neck. "But what about the future? Do you intend to stay by her now?"

"If she'll have me," he replied softly.

Fergus considered that. "If you hurt her like that again, I will find you, where ever you are, and kill you myself."

"Fair enough."

Fergus huffed. "You're making it very difficult to stay mad, you know."

"Sorry," Alistair grinned slightly. "I really don't feel like getting hit anymore."

"Hmm." Lya's brother finally sighed. "I can't blame you completely. I know my sister well enough to know she blamed herself for whatever happened. We Couslands have always been big on taking responsibility for our actions, and I won't insult her by treating her as blameless in this fiasco."

He pushed himself away from the stone. "Let's go back inside." He turned and led the way back down the steps. Alistair followed, thinking this might work out after all.

* * *

They stayed in Highever for months. Dara, Fergus's wife, welcomed them with open arms, acting as a sister to both Wardens. After a few weeks, the lingering hostility Fergus had towards Alistair faded. The more he saw how genuinely happy Lya was, the more accepting of Alistair he became.

In time, Fergus became first a friend, then a brother to Alistair. That had taken awhile for Alistair to adjust to. It struck him forcefully, here among the Couslands, how much he had missed by never really having a family and how much Lya had lost the night Duncan recruited her. That realization caused him to ask Lya if she knew that as a Warden it would be difficult for her to have children, and that together the odds were nigh on impossible for them.

She lay next to him in silence, before curling up against him and saying, "It doesn't matter."

"But—"

"It doesn't _matter_, Alistair."

"What if you want a family?"

"I _have_ a family. And right now it's badgering me with silly questions and not letting me go to sleep." Smoothing his hair and placing a gentle kiss against his neck, she said quietly, "I have all the family I want or need right here. As long as I have you, I don't need anything else."

A month later, he proposed, stammering and blushing, with a ring that had once belonged to her mother and given to him by Fergus. Lya cried as she accepted.

They were married two weeks later in a private ceremony in Castle Cousland's small chantry. Lya cried again, both in happiness and in sorrow for all those that should have been there, but weren't.

Just before winter set in, they made the short journey to Amaranthine. Arl Gerod Caron, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, greeted them personally. Alistair had been unsure of the reception they would get, but the Warden-Commander was polite and respectful. He informed them, that due to their service, they were free to choose what they wanted to do. The Grey Wardens would be more than happy to have them return to the Order, but there would be no problems if they chose not to.

They chose not to.

Winter came and they still remained in Highever. During those cold months, Alistair spent a lot of time with Fergus, learning about how a teyrnir was run.

"So you're really intending on going to Gwaren?"

"I haven't talked about it with Lya yet, but yes, I think so."

"Can I ask why?"

Alistair frowned thoughtfully. "She was born to rule, to lead. It seems…wrong…to not let her do that. She's very good at it. And the people of Gwaren deserve a teyrna who will actually _care_ about them. It's not fair, to her or them, to stay hidden away here."

"You probably would have made a pretty good king."

Alistair grimaced. "I doubt it. I can barely wrap my head around what you're teaching me. And court?" He shuddered. "Let's not think about that."

"You're learning in months what it's taken me a lifetime to learn. You'll be fine. Add that to the fact that you're willing to live in the home of the two people you hate the most, all for the greater good, and I think that says a lot. If anyone suggested I live in Vigil's Keep, I'd gut them."

The idea of living in Gwaren still didn't sit comfortably with Alistair, but he and Lya needed their own home, and it was foolish to throw away the opportunity before them because of him. Gwaren, if he could put his demons to rest, would herald a new beginning for them.

He suggested leaving to Lya as spring came. She had been cautious, asking him several times if that was really what he wanted to do. When she finally seemed certain that he was sure, they made plans to move. They would stay long enough to say their goodbyes, and then attend the Landsmeet. When it was over, they would leave Fergus and Dara and continue south to Gwaren.

The morning to leave for Denerim arrived, and Alistair found himself incredibly nervous. Returning to the capital, seeing Anora, walking into the Landsmeet chamber where everything had gone wrong, made him feel ill. A look at Lya told him she was feeling the same way, and that made him feel a little better.

Before they mounted their horses, he pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his forehead against hers. Come what may, they would face it.

Together.


End file.
